


bend your head double

by queerofcups



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 16:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13955901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/pseuds/queerofcups
Summary: A bit of mimosa induced, napping fluff





	bend your head double

Phil turns the bedroom light off and walks across the room to push the curtains open a little. It’s the middle of the day, a chilly Sunday afternoon. The heater, the blessed, always working heater, the second best thing in this apartment, rumbles quietly through the floorboards. It’s just started raining in earnest, turning the grey light watery. 

He’s just on the other side of tipsy, loose with Sunday morning mimosas and heavy and slow with more French toast than he really should have eaten.

They’re saying their goodbye-for-nows, meeting and eating and drinking with friends while they can. The tour looms ahead of them and on the other side of it, both uncertainty and the inevitability of change. 

It's heady, scary stuff, the kind of stuff that would send him down a spiral of concern if he were more sober, or less sleepy. Instead, it skates across his brain just as easily as the tune he’s humming, a piece of pop fluff that played twice in the hours they’d spent in the restaurant. 

Dan is splayed in the middle of the bed, looking impossibly small in the sprawl of the circular bed. He’s lost his shoes, socks and pants at some point, wrapped up in a blanket and his too big sweatshirt, knobby bare toes and legs poking out of the bottom. He’d drunk more than Phil, as he always does, and he’d been loose-boned and liquid in Phil’s arms a minute ago when they’d gotten out of the taxi.

Phil half-waltzs, half-sways over to the bed, just barely avoiding tripping over a basket of laundry they’re ignoring, to flop onto the bed. 

“Share,” he says, wriggling out of his clothes. “Cold.”

“You wouldn’t be cold if you kept your clothes on,” Dan mutters, eyes closed. 

“But then I’d be uncomfortable,” Phil tells him, unwrapping Dan out of his blanket burrito. “You don’t want me to be uncomfortable, do you?”

“D’you wanna have sex?” Dan asks, eyes still closed, making no movements to stop Phil from taking the blanket and re-tucking it around both of them. 

“Sure,” Phil says, setting a timer on his phone then tossing it over his shoulder. It lands with a soft  _ thump _ . 

He wraps an arm around Dan’s waist, a leg around Dan’s leg and presses closer, searching for warm, exposed skin. 

Dan shivers, but doesn’t fight or run away. He smells like some expensive fragrance, sugar and the sour of alcohol and orange juice. Phil stretches over to drop a kiss on his soft, relaxed mouth anyway.

Dan mutters vaguely, “Put on some clothes, hussy.”   


Phil laughs quietly but doesn’t respond and a few minutes later, Dan’s soft snorting joins the soft sounds outside their window of a rainy London in the middle of a Sunday.

Phil slips his hand beneath Dan’s hoodie and rests his hand on the soft skin of Dan’s belly, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breath. Dan’s feet tangle with his, boney, fleshy and familiar. 

Phil loves him from the smallest, boniest toe all the way to the softest, brownest curl on his head.

He falls asleep, room gently moving around him, warm and sated and home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Decemberists' Raincoat Song


End file.
